House vs the American Government
by Meredith T. Tasaki
Summary: Spoilers for Euphoria. People do crazy things when they're desperate. House calls someone he knows at the CDC.


Title: House Vs. the American Government

Rating: PG-13 for bitter sniping and colorful metaphors.

Summary: Spoilers for "Euphoria", I believe it is. People do crazy things when they're desperate. House calls someone he knows at the CDC.

Disclaimer: I don't own House. I'm not sure I'd want to; he seems the type who might rebel against his creator...

Notes: Inspired by the whole Sherlock-Holmes-parallel thing. I know very well the parallel's inexact, but there's still a character missing... And this episode seemed a good place to slot him in, given his esoteric occupation. So, Sherlock Holmes fans will know what's happening before everyone else. If you don't like it, all the stories _are_ available online, and the research ought to yield you some plotbunnies...

Altered some from the original, like every other character has been. Sherlockians, hopefully, will forgive me.

(-)

It was inescapable.

The CDC wouldn't do the autopsy for three days. There were two possible ways around that. The first, defy the CDC, was clearly not working. He'd rather thought the grieving-father trick would work, but apparently the one thing in the universe Cuddy was afraid of was the CDC. He couldn't very well break into the room and start to do an autopsy himself; he'd get caught almost immediately-- and he might come down with the damn disease himself, which he had absolutely no intention of doing.

Which left him with the other possibility.

A very bleak possibility that he already knew would never work-- and would cost him dearly if it did.

But desperation makes people do crazy things. He knew that; he banked on it, in fact. When the family members got desperate, they'd agree to anything.

This was his time of desperation.

"Yeah, I-- you will _not_ put me on hold again, you've already wasted fifteen minutes of my life with this crap! Did you even _talk_ to him?... Heh. Now I _know_ you're lying. If you'd told him, he'd either have taken the call or given you a _much_ more specific idea of what to say to me-- and it would _not_ be 'maybe I have a slot next Thursday'. I know damn _well_ he's a busy man. _Ask_ him."

House threw his ball at the window again, impatiently, on-edge already. Damn the man and his eternal superiority, these ridiculous trappings of prestige...

"Greg."

"Matt," House said. "We now know each other's names. Let's get down to business."

"You mean this isn't a social call? How _ever_ might I have _guessed_?"

House ignored the sarcasm for the moment. "This is important."

"Again--"

"--Obvious, yeah, yeah, I don't _care_ how you know what I'm saying before I even think it, shut up and listen. I need you to--"

"I can't."

House gripped the ball in his hand, carefully composing his temper. "You don't even know what I'm asking."

"Well, first of all, you'd never ask for a favor that wasn't illegal."

"As if you couldn't do illegal things."

"Secondly," Matt went on, "you know I have ways of knowing these things."

"What, you've got my name red-flagged in the CDC database?"

"Among others. You've always been trouble." Matt chuckled.

"So you know."

"Yes. One of your pets has come down with something. Your administrator has called several times to ask us to rush this; judging from the symptoms, I knew that even _you_ would break down and call me eventually. You don't like rules that inconvienence you. Therefore, you want me to place _my_ job in jeopardy to help _your_ doctor."

House's mouth dropped open. "'Place your job in jeopardy'? The only way you could place _your_ job in jeopardy would be selling secrets to the Russians! Oh wait-- we like Russia now. Maybe the Chinese."

"Cute. My position is actually a lot more precarious than you'd like to believe. The new administration--"

"Is comprised of a bunch of idiots--"

"--who don't _know_ that they're idiots and think anyone with different ideas is a traitor who should be kicked out as soon as possible. I'm smarter than they are. That does not enamour me to them." A pause. "Or, as it happens, to you. So you should understand."

"They may hate you. That doesn't mean they can function without you. I understand what _that's_ like, too."

"You're not bringing up the 'Oh, poor me, I have a bad leg' act again, are you?"

House gritted his teeth. "Do you have any redeeming characteristics at _all_?"

"You mean, things you can feel superior about? I'm obese. You can be happy that you're skinnier than me."

"Yeah, and I have more friends than you do."

"You have friends?"

"One or two. Which is more than _you_ have."

"True enough. Though not for lack of trying on your part."

House took a breath. "I need you to help me with this."

"I can't. It's impossible."

"It is _not_ impossible. You could have it done in two seconds. You wouldn't even have to get up off your fat ass."

"It's a _bureaucracy_, Greg. You cannot get anything done instantly. Three days is the best I can do. Three days is a personal _favor_. Though why I bothered, I don't know. It's a low-priority case."

"A man is _dying_."

"A lot of men are dying! Surely you've noticed! It happens all the time! And I can't waste resources on a two-person epidemic!"

"And I can't STOP the two-person epidemic until I get a goddamn autopsy! If it's so low-priority, kick it back down to us so we can get something _done_ and cut the mortality rate in half!"

"You know I can't do that."

"I know you _won't_ do it."

"I know you're a selfish ass who never thinks about anything but himself and HIS patients and HIS problems."

"I know YOU'RE a selfish ass who never thinks about anything but himself and HIS schedule and HIS problems, so don't you get all self-righteous on _me_, you pompous son of a bitch!"

"You do recall we share maternal lineage?" Matt said dryly.

"I've been trying to repress the memories. I-- I need _help_, goddamnit. I can't figure this one out before it kills him. I need your _help_, is _that_ what you wanted to hear! Fine! I need your help! You're smarter than me and more powerful than me and a better doctor and I NEED YOUR HELP WITH THIS!"

House snapped his mouth shut, steadying his breathing, looking around for anyone who might have overheard.

"...An impressive display," Matt said. "But I can't help you."

"All the damn trouble I've been through, you could at _least_ do me the favor of not lying to me."

"...I can't help you... without the appearance of impropriety."

"Closer."

"I won't help you, Greg. I suggest you put that brain of yours to work on finding the cause of this yourself. Go to the first patient's apartment or something. Stretch your legs. It's what you're good at."

"I'll do that. And Foreman and I will see you in hell."

House didn't bother waiting for his answer, just slammed down the phone.

"Who are you meeting in hell?" Wilson asked, knocking on the door only after he'd opened it.

House had to wait a beat before answering. "A contact of mine at the CDC."

"You have a contact at the CDC?"

"Evidently not." House glared at the phone, even though he could already feel the anger starting to seep out of him. No wonder he kept Wilson around. "Useless asshole."

"Probably there was nothing they could do."

"He could've done something," House said. "He has-- seniority. He has power. He could've done something. He just didn't want to."

"...Maybe it's something you said?" Wilson ventured, wryly.

"No." House got up. "He just likes having power. He likes being more powerful than everyone else. He likes being more important than everyone else. He likes holding things over people. Most of all, he likes being _smarter_ then everybody else."

"Why does this sound familiar to me?"

"_I don't_-- hell. It doesn't matter. He won't help. I knew he wouldn't. Patients are statistics to him. To me they're just useless liars; there's your difference."

"It is quite a favor you were asking," Wilson said, after a moment.

"No, it really wasn't."

Wilson knew when to shut up; it was one of the skills that had enabled their friendship to last this long. He just followed him down the hall, waiting for-- whatever it was that was bothering him.

"And I could deal with that," House said, very quietly, "except he _is_ more important and powerful than everyone else, unless you happen to catch him at a State dinner. Which you wouldn't unless it was a buffet. I wouldn't care _how_ big an asshole he is... except he's smarter than me."

House stabbed at an elevator button with his cane. "I am now going to erase the last ten minutes from my memory. You should plan accordingly."

"That bad?"

"If he'd been here, I would have shoved my cane so far up his ass it would've cleaned out his _sinuses_. You're lucky he wasn't-- you'd have had to buy me a new cane."

"And post your bail, I assume?"

"Assuming the FBI didn't just shoot me, yeah. There's the Patriot Act, I'm pretty sure they can do that now."

Wilson blinked. "Just how high up _is_ this guy?"

The elevator came, and House clambered into it. "If you believe him, he's the American government."

"He's-- _what_?"

House hit the button for the basement; the elevator doors closed.

Going down.

(-)


End file.
